Phee’s expression as she’d confessed to accidentally killing Adam would break Cal’s heart each time he remembered it. She’d been prepared for him to shun her. It was obvious in the defensive lift of her chin and the board-straight posture. Her confession had the air of one going to an executioner.
Later, he’d be able to hold her. Provide comfort. Eventually, Cal hoped she’d have such unshakable faith in him, it would never cross her mind that he’d judge her. They had the rest of their lives to deepen their trust and support one another as they each healed from their histories.
The establishment in Olread Cove had a wide alleyway behind the building where customers could arrive and leave discreetly through a red door. Cal jumped to the ground and lowered the steps of the carriage.
“Quiet and quick, ladies. Shove him my way, and I’ll take it from here.”
“You aren’t handling this alone,” Phee said.
His Phee would never expect him to do the dirty work to rescue her. Future countess or not, she would always be a scrapper at heart.
“Apologies, milady. I was thinking to protect your gown.”
“You’ll buy me another,” she said cheekily and he laughed.
They looked at Emma, who shook her head. “I’ll hold the horses.”
Together, they shifted Milton off the seat. Cal slung the man’s arm over his shoulder and maneuvered them through the alley to a window. On the other side of the glass, the working ladies entertained their customers in a public parlor.
“Is this place what I think it is?” Phee hissed, her eyes wide in the dim light.
“Depends. Do you think it’s a brothel?”
“How did you know this was here?” A trace of suspicion colored the question.
Cal shot her an exasperated look. “It’s a port. Every port has a brothel. I couldn’t find it at first, so we circled around and I asked a man on the street.” Cal raised his right hand—the one not wrapped around her dead uncle. “I solemnly swear to never visit another brothel for as long as I live. Not that I’ve frequented them in years, anyway. You’re stuck with every last one of my lusty intentions.” He winked at her over his shoulder. “I hope you’re well rested.”
“I can’t believe you can joke about sex while carrying a dead man.”
“It’s not as if he was a friend. Here. Let’s check this window.” They propped Milton against the wall, and Cal peeked over the sill. “This will do nicely.” Leaving the couple inside to their privacy, he surveyed the area for a sizable rock.
“What are you looking for?”
“Something believable for him to crack his egg on.”
Phee searched the ground down the alley, then returned with a decent-sized lump of limestone. “This will do the trick.”
Working as quickly as possible, Cal rolled Milton, and she set the stone in place under his head. Together they stepped back and observed the scene.
“Perfect. Outside a brothel window is a nice touch. After all, we don’t know that he wasn’t a Peeping Tom. I wondered a few times as a child, so this is fitting.”
Cal wanted to kill the man all over again at the casual reference to her hellish childhood.
“If he’s going to look like the degenerate he was, it needs to be worse. If you want to go back to the carriage, now would be a good time.”
Phee crossed her arms, her ring flashing in the meager light spilling from the window. “Partners, remember?”
“Even partners in crime?” he teased.
“It was an accident,” she hissed.
“I know. But moving a body is certainly murky legal territory. You’re staying?”
“I’m staying.”
“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Grimacing, Cal unfastened Milton’s trousers and set one cooling, dead hand in place. “Poor chap,” he murmured at the sight of one of the most pathetic penises he’d ever laid eyes on. Cal rubbed his palms on his breeches, then stepped back from the body, motioning for Phee to follow.
Inside the brothel, someone lit a lamp, sending a pool of light over the tableau they’d made on the ground. Milton, may he rest in peace, got the ending he deserved.
Cal and Phee hurried back toward the carriage, where Emma held the horses.
“You seem surprisingly fine with how this evening progressed,” Phee said.
Cal shrugged. “For better or worse doesn’t begin on the wedding day.”
The white of her teeth flashed in the flickering light. “Speaking of wedding days, I’d like to get a special license and have Vicar Arcott marry us. What do you think?”
His cheeks ached with the width of his smile. “I like that idea. Ethan and Lottie could meet us in Northumberland. They’re the only ones besides Emma I’d want to have present anyway.” A shout echoed into the night from the direction they’d come. They exchanged a look and quickened their pace.
“Granted, when I proposed a couple hours ago, fleeing the scene of a death wasn’t how I’d envisioned spending the night. Not that I’m complaining exactly. But a relationship with you is full of surprises, my love.” Cal opened the door and held out a hand.
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to get bored.” Phee winked and jumped into the carriage.
Epilogue
London, eight months later
Their arrival in Town had been strategic. The Whitbournes’ ball was one of the final social engagements of the Season, and the perfect time for Phee to make her first appearance in society as Countess Carlyle before retreating to Lakeview for the rest of the year.
Phee smiled a welcome as her husband returned with refreshments. The Earl of Carlyle’s marriage to a nobody of modest means and no title had been a brief scandal. She and Cal had enjoyed weathering that particular gossip feast from a distance.
Emma’s house in Olread Cove had been the perfect place to spend the winter. Winds had buffeted the paned windows, and cozy fireplaces had kept the small rooms comfortable. By Christmas, both Emma and Phee could make a decent pastry crust, and they’d even mastered bread and sweet buns under the patient tutelage of Mrs. Shephard.
Standing in this glittering ballroom, surrounded by the elite of society and their curious stares, Phee thought wistfully of the cottage. The warm kitchen. Phee and Cal’s big bed upstairs by their fireplace. The bedroom window facing the sea, and the piles of quilts they’d spent months making love under. It had been an idyllic winter.
Emma had given birth to a healthy boy. Little Alton immediately stole every heart in the room and didn’t seem inclined to give them back anytime soon. He was all chubby rolls and giggles, and his head only recently had lost that intoxicating baby smell. Lordy, she missed Alton and his mama.
Taking a glass of champagne from Cal, she took a sip.
“You look good enough to eat, my love. How are you holding up?” Cal asked.
“Everyone is talking about us.”
He shrugged, having become more comfortable being the center of gossip these days. “Let them talk. They’re just jealous because you are the most vibrant woman in the room and I’m the happiest man alive. Except perhaps for this fellow.” Cal added the last sentence as an afterthought when Viscount and Lady Amesbury joined them, accompanied by Lottie’s godmother, Lady Agatha Dalrymple.
Phee had always liked Lady Agatha, and Cal held a special place in his heart for the older woman. Having the blessing of a grande dame like Agatha would certainly ease Phee’s acceptance to the ton.
A black feather quivered in Lady Agatha’s silver curls. “That gown is one of Madame Bouvier’s designs. I’d recognize her work anywhere. You wear it well, Lady Carlyle, with distinctive style.”
Smoothing a hand over the emerald silk, Phee smiled her thanks. Precise folds and swaths of silk across the bodice gave the illusion of a larger bust and a more dramatic dip at her waist. Phee loved it—even after having to don the gown twice. The first time, the dress had drifted to the floor around the same time Cal had tumbled her back onto the bed. It had been a
delightful reason to arrive late to the Whitbournes’ ball.
“How do you like your first evening in society?” Lottie asked.
Phee fought a grimace. “All the gawking makes me nervous. Then someone asked Cal where he’d met me, and he said I was under his nose all along, and I nearly choked him in front of God and everyone.”
Lady Agatha laughed. “If I may offer a word of advice, child? Embrace your status as a misfit. Be you, as gloriously and shamelessly as possible. Their speculation will turn to envy. All these people are wondering where you came from, but that’s a question you don’t have to answer. The only thing that matters is who you are now.”
Lottie reached over and squeezed Phee’s hand. “And you, my dear, are a treasure—not to mention a countess. You have the second most handsome husband in London”—at that, Ethan and Cal laughed into their wineglasses and Phee grinned—“and you’re surrounded by friends. All the gossips can only wish for a life as good as yours.”
“Do you know, I’ve realized something. During the countless social events I’ve attended with you over the years, there’s one thing we’ve never done.” A wicked smile lit Cal’s face, much like the one he’d worn earlier in the evening. She flushed at the memory of why they’d been late and how he’d put that remarkable mouth to use.
“Something you’ve never done…Gotten me drunk in public?” Phee downed the last of her champagne and placed the glass on a nearby tray.
The others laughed, but Cal set aside his glass and offered a hand to his wife. “Danced with you. Come along, Puppy. Let’s really give them something to talk about.”
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About the Author
Bethany Bennett grew up in a small fishing village in Alaska where required life skills included cold-water survival, along with several other subjects that are utterly useless as a romance writer. Eventually settling in the Northwest with her real-life hero and two children, she enjoys taking in mountain views from the comfort of her sofa, wearing a tremendous amount of flannel, and drinking more coffee than her doctor deems wise.
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